


Diurnal Dreaming #13: Disco

by maven



Series: Diurnal Dreaming [13]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maven/pseuds/maven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A change in relationships leads to a yardsale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diurnal Dreaming #13: Disco

**Author's Note:**

> This series is mainly canon up to the end of Season 5. Everything after that is in the vague realm of "didn't happen"... sort of like the sequels to the Matrix and Star Wars 1-3.

There are some things you should never see. Images so horrifying, so terrible that, once seen, they are burned into your memory.

I had asked them to clear out the crawlspace. It was full of about twenty years of junk that I had accumulated but never bothered to dispose of. The deal was I would stay out of the way so as not to slow down the proceedings with reminiscing over each find, Sara would act as adult overseer and Lindsey would act as grunt labour. In exchange, Lindsay would get any proceeds from resulting eBay or yard sales, Sara would get to keep embarrassing mementos of my youth and I'd get my crawlspace back.

It sounded fair at the time.

The music is loud. I follow it from the front door to the passage to the living room. They have their backs to me, facing the stereo and each other, singing along with the background singers.

"Disco, disco duck," they sing, arms flapping in a maneuver usually reserved for the chicken dance.

"Got to have me a woman," sings Rick Dees.

"Disco, disco duck," they sing, Lindsey switching to the mashed potato while Sara the fingers across the eyes ala Pulp Fiction.

"Oh get down mama," sings Rick Dees.

"Try your luck, don't be a cluck, disco," they sing, Sara taking over the mashed potato while Lindsey did a move whose name escaped me but mimicked going underwater.

"Disco."

"Disco," they yelled, both striking Saturday Night Fever, point at the disco ball stances.

"Disco."

"Disco - disco - disco disco duck," they crowed, resuming the chicken -or duck- dance, "Disco disco duck!"

"Ah," sings Rick Dees, "get down mama, oh mama shake your tail feather, ha ha ha ha ha."

I ducked back, wincing at the irony of my action, as their tail feather shaking threatened to reveal me.

Like I always say; there are some things you should never see. Images so horrifying, so terrible that, once seen, they feel like they are burned into your memory. But you know that eventually, with time and new experiences, that the mental pictures will dim and fade.

Thank God for cellphone cameras.

THE END


End file.
